Of Dunedain and Durin's Folk
by GertrudeThePale
Summary: Seventeen years after Erebor is reclaimed, new friendships and new bonds reforge the fires of hope for a new group of Dwarves, who find solace in the most unlikely of places. Can the spark between two people so different shine brighter than the darkness building around them, or will it prove to swallow them whole? OCs x OCs, some small Kili x Tauriel. M for later chapters.
1. (1) Old Wounds, New Scars

**Disclaimer: I do not own any material in this story, except for OCs. Middle Earth belongs to Tolkien :) Please keep in mind that the goal of this story is mainly to illustrate the lives of these original characters!**

_**This story is one of my own creation, closely following Tolkien's lore prior to the events of the Fellowship of the Ring. The events will more so follow the Hobbit movie adaptations, including the relationship between Kili and Tauriel, and having Kili, Fili, and Thorin survive the BofTFA (because we all know they only died to fill in a stinking loophole).**_

_**Please feel free to comment on or help correct inconsistencies with the lore, as I won't claim to be an expert. :)**_

_**OCs x OCs small amounts of Kili x Tauriel, though mostly of my (and my borrowed) characters.**_

**This story is rated M for later swearing, crudeness, some descriptive gore in later chapters, and sexual intimacy in later chapters.**

**[This chapter is rated K+]**

**Chapter 1: Old Wounds, New Scars**

* * *

Nights within the mountains were never quiet.

Then again, neither were the dwarves that dwelled beneath them. The bustle and flow of Durin's Folk deep within their halls was a never ending affair, dwarves running to and fro at all hours of the day, running messages, delivering parcels and the like. Much unlike the kingdoms of elves or men, peace and quiet were luxuries, though the dwarves did not mind. They reveled in the comradery of their people, valuing song and drink and friends far more than their wealth and treasure, much contrary to the conceptions of the other races.

That is why when Erebor fell, it was the darkest day for the dwarves of that mountain. It was one thing to loose their riches, and another altogether to lose a home.

And so after the great dragon Smaug claimed the Lonely Mountain for his own, the dwarves of Erebor sought other homes. Some in the East, toward the Iron Hills north of Rhun, finding shelter among the clan Longbeard. Others looked West, past the once green Mirkwood, to the furthermost reaches of Arnor, and went into the Blue Mountains.

But the dwarves of Erebor did rebuild their home, and in time, built their grand halls and forges again, seeking solace in their newfound refuge. Time passed, and it soon came that only the eldest of their people remembered the grand halls of Erebor. But they could not forget, and for those that knew her, would never forget.

And the day then came, when chance intertwined with fate, and Thorin, son of Thrain, the rightful King under the mountain, took back the mountain once again. Not met with fanfare, not met with song, he and his kin fought the great dragon Smaug, throwing his ruin into the brackish waters of Laketown, leaving him to lay with the muck and rocks and worms. But their quest was not done, for they fought a greater foe in defense of their home; Azog the Defiler and his army of orcs spilled forth from the depths under the mountains, bringing swords and death upon them. Only with help from King Dain of the Iron Hills, and Lord Thranduil of the Woodland Realm did they defeat those armies, but not without cost or casualty. Thorin, dealt a great blow, was thought to die.

But as Mahal would have it, he and his nephews were spared that day, and it was known throughout all of Middle Earth that the King had reclaimed the mountain.

It was not long before those in the Blue Mountians knew of the success of Thorin's company, and on the day the first raven arrived from Erebor, hope was restored to all of Durin's Folk. Talk began of their return, and some were sent to the aid of the new King, swearing ,again, the fealty of the dwarven realms, and in time, the dwarves returned. They rebuilt the great halls, the forges, the miles and miles of passages destroyed by war and dragon fire, and the Lonely Mountain became the jewel of Middle Earth once more.

* * *

2958 of the Third Age- 17 years after the Battle of the Five Armies, and reclamation of Erebor

* * *

"I've told you fifteen times Gholi, you've got to stop grabbing her arse every time you see her." The dwarf turned to his cousin Gholi, still cradling his stinging cheek in his palm, who was much glad that the brunt of the slap he had received was dulled by his beard. Face hurting, but his pride no more diminished, he laughed, and ignored the warning.

"Aye, you've told me, but I'll gladly do it again if the price is no more than her gentle caress." The dwarf rolled his eyes. "Do it many times more and she'll deck you proper, and no amount of beard will cover that nasty bruise, and no amount of ale will mend your dear, poor, broken heart." Laughing, Gholi tossed a number of crumbs at his cousin, no more swayed than before.

"And aren't you just the expert in these matters, Tholi? You wouldn't know a tit if it flew right in front of your face!" Tholi choked on his ale, nearly spitting it all onto the table in front of him, amused at his friend's crude remark. Wiping the drink from his chin, and finally finding the air to reply he clasped Gholi on the shoulder.

"Well after seeing yours for so many years I think I've had quite enough practice!"

Expecting his cousins reaction to his quip, Tholi quickly ran from the table, dodging his cousin's swipe, mockingly bowing before disappearing from the western hall as fast as his legs would take him with Gholi not far behind.

The two had been arguing like this for years, waging their small battles of wit over women and warfare. He bounded down flight after flight of steps, laughing all the way, gaining the occasional raised brow from those dwarves he passed on his way down. Even though there were many dwarves now in Erebor, he and his cousin were notorious troublemakers, often seen running from each other for fear of friendly consequence. On some days it seemed Tholi's reputation as a premiere huntsman and tracker were overshadowed by their charades.

The way they fought, they were often confused as twin brothers, considering that they had similar names and all, and may as well have been since Gholi was raised by Osk, Tholi's father, after his father's death as a child, and his own kin were slain in battle near twenty years before. Tholi began to slow his pace, ducking behind a large gilded column marking the entrance to the forge.

Panting, he slumped down onto the stone beneath him, still smiling after the chase. _Gholi you fat fool, I bet you stopped chasing me after twenty steps_. He ran a hand through his dark curls, fumbling to remove all traces of crumbs from his hair and braids, running the course of his braid at the back of his head, then through his curt goatee, finding a few stragglers.

Satisfied with his grooming, he stood and stretched his arms above him, still aching from his earlier shift in the smithy. _Might as well stay here for awhile. Mahal knows he'll be waiting for me to get back, already stuffing my mattress with eggs I bet._

He passed through the archway of the forge, and made sure to admire the sheer mass of the room as he did every time he arrived. To the left, large crucibles filled with all sorts of raw minerals and molten ores smoked steadily in the dimmed light, largely unattended in the late hour of the evening. To the right lay the still twisted bars leading to the hall where Thorin and his companions had fled from Smaug the terrible. No one had bothered to render the large steel beams to their original state, as they considered it to be a reminder of the sacrifice it took to reclaim the mountain.

Tholi turned from them, and continued on his way toward the far side of the room. While he would never think ill of Erebor, he had always failed to see why it was so magnificent in the eyes of those who remembered its former days. Sure, he could not deny that it was well crafted, with the finest architecture and care into its halls, but he had never felt like it was home. Not in the same sense as the other dwarves. His father, mother, cousin, and kin were all here, so surely that must have been enough to curb his uneasiness of the place. But more often than not he missed the Blue Mountains and their acres of forest, the hunts he and Gholi would have for days much to the dismay of his mother, Dás.

Sighing at his melancholy thoughts, he reached the doors to the smithy proper, and pushed them open, going to a small section laid with rough cut swords, axes, and daggers, near a grindstone, hoping to work through the bulk of the weapons before dawn came. Sitting down, he went to work. He found solace in the spark and groan of the metal against the solid rock of the grindstone, the menial work lulling his mind into a blank state with its repetitive, rough song. He often came here after hours were done to find peace in its solitude, something many dwarves would have found distasteful.

Used to the din of the metal sharpening, Tholi immediately heard the footsteps quietly approaching in the distance.

_Not many often come here at this hour, let alone to this portion of the forge. Something is odd._

Curious, and the footsteps rounding the corner to his place, Tholi laid the axe he had been sharpening behind him.

"Lord Kili, by Mahal what are you doing in the forge at this hour?" He said surprised, rising from the grindstone, clasping his fist on his chest, and humbling himself to one knee.

"Oh don't you start with this 'Lord Kili' business Tholi, I don't need one more person showering me with honorifics." Kili replied, smirking in the dim light. "And if you're going to try flattering me don't follow it up by cursing and ruining your attempt at respect, _dóh_"

Smiling at his usual silliness, Tholi rose. "After the last time I addressed you improperly I thought my father was going to rip my ear off. I rather like my ears." He laughed. "Quite useful for hearing strangers sneaking up to you in the wee hours of the night." Kili returned his outburst with a breathy chuckle, and Tholi noticed that his friend's eyes looked tired in the flickering light. "So then, joking aside, I would like to know why you came to find me."

"Walk with me now. I cannot tell you more while others may be listening."

Confused, Tholi followed nonetheless. "And what way would we be going . . . ?" Kili looked toward Tholi over his shoulder. "To the King's hall. There is something there of which we need your help."

"Mine? It sounds like you need a healer more than a smith."

"That, my friend, has been handled well enough. We need you to do something a small bit, er . . . different."

And that was the last that Kili let on, walking the rest of the length in silence, save for his slightly labored breath while climbing the flights back toward the King's hall, Tholi knowing it was his leg still troubling him after all the years.

Reaching their destination, Kili paused before opening the great oaken door leading to one of the private chambers of the passage. Inside, Tholi could detect muffled voices, all nervously whispering to each other.

"You must promise me that before you set foot in this room, you will speak none of this to your father or cousin. Especially your cousin." He was met with no hesitation.

"Whatever importance this is, you have my word that no one will know of it." Kili gave a thankful nod at his willingness, and slowly opened the door, letting Tholi go in alone.

Stepping over the threshold, Tholi looked to the other dwarves filling the small chamber, recognizing the faces of few. Noticing his entrance, they turned to him with a strange skepticism on their faces. "I was called here by Kili."

Emerging from behind the throng, Fili, Kili's brother, came toward him with a small cloth parcel in his hand.

"Tholi, I am going to skip normal courtesy and arrive at the point of this." He said, unwrapping the binding from whatever he was holding. The distance still being closed between them, Tholi was beginning to see the long, slender shape of what appeared to be a dagger, small flecks of blood staining the closest wrappings. "The third watch was ambushed near Dale. We haven't been able to figure much besides who the assailants were."

Still not recognizing how he could be involved in this, Tholi turned his gaze toward the bed, now seeing a shape lying on what once were white sheets. "Is he alive?"

Fili waited a moment, seeming to consider the situation. "Yes, though he will not last the night."

Feeling sorrow toward his situation, he turned back to Fili who had begun to uncover the final layer of the dagger.

"We found this stuck deep in his stomach." He said, handing the dagger to Tholi. "An orcish blade. One of which we haven't seen for some time now."

Tholi turned the blade over in his hands, glossed with a ruddy sheen over its blackened steel. Looking at the blade made bile form in his throat. "Not since the battle for the mountain, I'd suppose," he said somberly, realizing the gravity of the situation. If orcs were beginning to come back to the grey mountains, they would have more than one company of dead dwarves on their hands.

"What has the north watch said of this?"

Fili shook his head. "Nothing. This is the first sign of any renewed trouble, and we fear that it may not be the last." Gesturing to take back the blade, Fili returned the blade to its wrappings. "Tholi, King Thorin has tasked me with finding the most skilled tracker that we have, to find this group of orc or follow them to wherever they are coming from."

"Aye, and I suppose I'm the one you've thought of." Tholi said. In honesty, he was excited by this. Aware of the danger of what Fili was asking him, yes, but he couldn't deny that the thought of running through the trees, over the rocks and hills in pursuit of the orcs . . . it was a very welcome departure from his accustomed life in the mountain.

"Yes, you are. Growing up with Kili in the Blue Mountains, no one could move more quietly or quickly than you could." Fili said, clasping Tholi on the shoulder. "I would task you with this if I didn't think you could return unharmed."

Tholi smirked, returning Fili's gesture. "Don't worry, if I come back with a single scratch you'll never let me live it down." The two laughed, and sat down to discuss the logistics of Tholi's journey, and with each passing breath, he became more anxious to depart from Erebor.

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**Thank you everyone who took the time to read this first chapter! Posts will be regular, and don't be shy to tell me what you think about the characters, or if you see something wrong with inconsistencies in the lore! Until next time!**


	2. (2) To Prove Strength and Will

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything within the Tolkien universe, save for Tholi and other OCS.**

**Thank you to everyone who read chapter one! This new chapter will be introducing another key player to the tale. . . friend, or perhaps foe? Maybe somewhere in between? Read to find out :D**

**Please continue to keep in mind that the goal of this story is to follow the lives of my OCs, while still checking in on some other beloved characters.**

**Feel free to comment!**

**This story is rated M for later swearing, crudeness, later chapters with descriptive gore, and later chapters with sexual intimacy.**

**[This chapter is rated T for descriptions of battle]**

**Chapter 2: To Prove Strength and Wit**

* * *

Merésgaleth shivered in the morning air, drawing her blanket closer to her face, hoping to find a few more moments rest before packing her things and moving on. The first light of dawn broke over the far hills, reminding her that it was time to resume the hunt.

_If there's one thing I will never get used to, it's this damned bite in the air._

Sighing, and resigning herself to the chilly morning, she rose, stretching her limbs. Pausing only for a few minutes to retie the long braid that held her ebony hair, not wanting to be annoyed by the winds as she moved. She carried little things, knowing that it was best to minimize the chance that she would fall far behind the pack of orcs, no less than a half days run away.

"How wonderful it would be if they rose late this morning. . ."

She knew that if she hurried, she would catch the band before they arrived too close to the Northeastern portion of Mirkwood, encroaching upon Thranduil's kingdom. Having set out almost three days prior, she'd hoped to have caught them before they wandered too close to Erebor, though as of yesterday it seemed that they were more stupid than she had guessed.

They moved at a quick pace, though not too quick for her own legs to follow, only now slowed that they were wandering toward the Lonely Mountain, having given her enough time to greatly close the distance between her and them.

_Though why they turned toward the mountain I couldn't possibly gather. . . _

Hours passed, her legs taking her over rock and through fields, never tiring thanks to the steady flow of adrenaline. This kind of work suited her, she thought, nothing more thrilling than the thread of her bow drawn ready to strike at the orcs given the right moment. Many Elves were avid bowmen, though they themselves were not typically drawn to violence, so Mir had always guessed that her fascination with hunting was a gift from her mother's side.

Finally coming upon the troop, she ducked behind a large crag, now the closest to the mountain they had come, counting no less than thirty orcs. They ran without organization, holding clubs and crude axes in their miserable hands. Drawing her shortbow, she notched one of her favorite arrows, waiting for the group to round the short pass, straight toward her.

_Come now, you greyish worms and ta-_

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, her muscles tensing, drawing the arrow to its full length. The shape crouched low, ducking behind a small outcropping of rocks not twenty paces from where she was hiding.

_So, then, you did see me. Perhaps I was more careless then I had thought. . ._

Merésgaleth crept forward, and fast, hoping to kill the sneaking orc before the others gained too much ground toward her, ruining her chance to strike swiftly from above. She stopped, and gripped her bow tighter, hearing its loud, labored breath, disgusted by the very sound. She would be glad to rid the world of one more of its hellish creatures. Tensing her muscles, she lept high above the rock concealing the orc, twisting round to face it as to shoot it square in the eyes, bow taught and ready, though when she released her arrow, it was struck aside with a flash of steel, and was tackled before she could reach the ground.

Rolling in the dirt, she grabbed her short dagger from her side, readying her knife to slice its throat, shocked, when her own neck was met with steel of its own.

Only it was not an orcish blade with which she was threatened, but one of a dwarf. At a stalemate, she glared half surprised, and half angrily toward the dwarf before her, panting from the effort of the scuffle, swallowing hard against the cold metal.

He was tall. For a dwarf, that is. Merésgaleth was the first to speak, though neither moved.

"If I were you, _dwarf_, I would be quick to stow your blade before I spill any more of your blood."

A thin line of crimson flowing from the cut of her knife against his throat, he smirked, replying in a much annoyed tone.

"You're not in much of a position to threaten me, _elf. _Open my throat, and yours will quickly follow."

Not moving her blade, she looked to her left, fully aware that the orcs would nearly be gone from the pass now, her opportunity reaching its end.

The dwarf sighed, following her line of sight, and lowered his blade, stowing into its sheath on his right pauldron.

"Though I do believe that it's not I whom you intend to kill," he said. Mir removed her blade with a flourish, though she did not put it away. Shocked, the dwarf offered a hand to her, though she did not take it, and rose of her own accord.

Considering the situation for a moment, she nodded toward him, suddenly throwing her hand onto the nearest boulder at the end of the outcropping, and threw herself over the side, and onto the shoulders of the final orc of the troop below, driving her dagger deep into his skull along the way. Not pausing to react, the dwarf ran toward the edge of the crag, drawing his own bow, notching two dwarven arrows and letting them fly.

The first hit its target, the orc crumbling into itself, having little time to cry out before its death. The latter flew just shy of the other orcs head, burying deep into its shoulder, the thing shrieking with anger and pain. Cursing his mistake, the dwarf watched as the entirety of the orcish troop turned round, redoubling at their brethren's cry.

_By Mahal, I'll be damned before I make that mistake again. Especially in the company of this elf._

Surprised at his own thoughts, and the slightest part embarrassed, the dwarf reminded himself that the only one he needed to be concerned with was himself, though he couldn't help but to search the ground beneath him for the elfish stranger. Below him, she had drawn her longsword, arcing it through the air with deadly flourish, striking hard and fast into the flesh of the orcs rushing toward her.

_Let's not let you have all the fun, now. _

And so he returned his bow to his back, and drew his own long knives, throwing himself over the edge of the bank of rocks, just as the elf had done moments before, fearless into the fray.

It did not take long for the two warriors to finish off the last of the orcs, save one they left bleeding with a missing forearm, intending to question his company's purpose.

Leaving that one tied and shrieking on a large boulder, Merésgaleth picked her way through the slaughtered orcs, looking for any indication of their origins, as she had been instructed by her King days before.

* * *

_She had been in the lower rooms below the throne halls, weaving her way between elves carrying trays of breads, cheeses, and meats, all hurrying to replenish the tables on which her people were feasting. _

_It was Merethnethui, the Feast of November, a small holiday marking the beginning of the snow months, but a feast nonetheless, and she had no intentions of joining in the merriment. Not that she did not enjoy the company of others, but that it was the only time she would be able to find some solitude to mend her bow, broken for weeks without repair._

_While Merésgaleth did not mind the handiwork of Balanon, the smith assigned to the guard, she preferred to mend her things herself, feeling that the strength of her own hands gave some trueness to her arrows when they flew. _

_Arriving at the forge, she paused to flit between the rows of raw materials, gathering new string, and some wood to mend the belly of her bow. She went to the less cluttered of the benches, happy to finally be fixing her weapon, as this meant she could finally return to her post on the far edges of Mirkwood, guarding the Northern Border between the elves and Erebor. Mer__é__sgaleth loved nothing more than running through the forests edge, breathing in the air as she pushed herself as far as her watch could take her. _

_No sooner than the moment she reattached her new string to the nock of her bow, Du__á__th, a young elf recently posted to the inner guard, approached her, saying that the King had requested a private audience with her. _

_Not losing a moment, she nearly ran to the receiving room, more so anxious than excited to be called before King Thranduil. As she knew very well, an audience with him was either one of great honor or great anger, and she would have liked to arrive early in hopes to provoke a more favorable outcome._

_Once she arrived, it did not take long for the elfish King to explain the purpose of their meeting. A group of orcs had been spotted creeping along the Northwestern border of the forest, and she was to follow them for as long as she could before they crossed the border into dwarvish territory. _

"_Either come back, then, with them dead and their purpose known," Thranduil had taunted her, "Or do not bother coming back at all. I have been patient with you, Merésgaleth, do not dare to disappoint me."_

_Swallowing hard, she had bowed respectfully and turned quickly on her heel to leave the chamber, his words echoing in her head._

"_Try to remind me why I didn't leave you to rot, __half- elf__."_

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**Another chapter posted! I decided to include these two chapters on the same evening because I assumed it would be best to introduce two of the main characters ;D Betcha didn't expect Meresgaleth do be only half a Sindarin elf, did ya?**

**In the next chapter, we will be checking in on our favorite dwarf and elf again, seeing the first parts of their friendship blossom! (That's not spoilerific, is it? Haha :) )**

**Thank you again for reading!**


	3. (3) Sparks

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything within the Tolkien universe but my own original characters and plot elements.**

**[This chapter is rated M for descriptions of torture and gore]**

**Chapter 3: Sparks**

* * *

_Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Damn these orcs!_

Merésgaleth was seething. She had spent the better part of the last hour trying to pick through the tattered and disheveled remains of the thirty orcs, desperately trying to find some shred of indication of where they were heading. Instead, the most exciting of her finds had been, disturbingly, three severed fingers tucked into the pocket of one particularly fat orc, not even wanting to think about why they were there to begin with.

"Arrrgh!"

She kicked the head of one of the orcs away, sending it tumbling head over. . . head toward the feet of the sniveling creature she had decided to spare and tie to a rock, wanting to determine some more information.

It rolled between its legs, eyes lolling toward the sky in death, making her captive squeal.

"I'll ask you for the last time you miserable thing, _where was your company heading?_"

Or rather, _their_ captive. She looked over toward the dwarf, standing menacingly close to the orc, one of his long knives poised to rid the thing of its neck should it prove to be useless.

She looked at his face, not overclouded by the same beard as most dwarfs did, keeping his only facial hair taughtly tied beneath his chin. He wore a dark blue shirt patterned with a silver embellishment, and light mail beneath, contrasting his russet hair that was cascading from his temples in gentle waves, flecked with gristle and blood from the battle, tied together in a simple braid meeting at the back of his head.

Though his face was grave, quite seriously threatening the life of the dwarf, she couldn't help but notice a certain charm to his features. In fact, the dwarf had been . . . dare she say it . . . warm toward her.

_I'd like to see what his face was like when it isn't so angry. . . _

By the gods what was she thinking? She didn't need to see any more of this dwarf, much less of his good side. And why did she even think that he had a good side to begin with? While she didn't harbor particularly hostile feelings toward his kind, she had no previous favor with them. Unlike most elves, she quite often took it upon herself to find, at least, respect for things and people she could not understand, knowing full and well what it meant to be cast aside based on appearances. But that did not mean that she should be any more interested in this one.

_["Try to remind me why I didn't leave you to rot, half-elf."]_

King Thranduil's words echoed in her mind, and turned her mouth sour.

It seemed more than ever the elves of Mirkwood were taunting her with her heritage: half Silvan, half of the men of Dunedain. Elves were a proud people, sometimes overwhelmingly so, and while it was common knowledge that the elves of Rivendell had mixed blood, it was unheard of for any elf of Mirkwood to have lain with woman of man.

Nonetheless bearing a child with one.

Yet despite this, Merésgaleth did not regret her heritage, and rather used her 'disgraceful' lineage as a shield to block the disgust that some chose to show her. She was not of a long line of lofty, self-contained fair folk, but a blend of two, strong peoples; a promise of hope between two so very different individuals, drawn together by either chance or fate, she did not know.

She remembered the tales that her mother used to tell her of her parent's meeting long ago, holding her close by the fire when she was small, humming her tales in such a beautiful song that she near always fell asleep before hearing the end.

She did not know much about her father, or her mother, save for that he was a Silvan elf of Mirkwood, and she a lady of the once beautiful Dale, long before it was consumed by dragon's fire. While on watch, Merésgaleth often looked toward the city where she once slept as a young, young girl, often glad her mother had died nearly 250 years prior to the terror that Smaug had brought.

Much to her sadness, her father had not been so lucky, turned to ash by smoke and fire at the footsteps of Erebor when the dragon stole the mountain.

_I wonder. . . Is it by chance or fate, dwarf, that we have come to know each other here_?

After her reflection, she did not shy away from this thought, and chose to stow it away in the back of her mind to ponder at a later hour. Now was not the time for lofty dreaming. She needed to gain the information for which she had come, or else face losing another home.

Her thoughts now centered on her assignment, she turned heel, deciding that this charade had continued for long enough. Making her way toward the captive orc, she paused only to wrench her dagger from a fallen orcs skull, matted with blood, and sparse hairs. She loomed over the quivering orc, the dwarf's knife still hardly pressed against his neck.

"Dw- . . . Tholi . . . let me talk to it."

He paused for a moment, casting her a sideways glance, and slowly nodded, storing his long knife into its holder. He spoke then, his gruff voice expressing his own exasperation.

"This one is useless. . . I doubt anyone would be able to find anything useless in his shrieking, but feel free to try, Lady- elf."

He stepped to the side, Merésgaleth taking his place, crouching low in front of the creature. She grabbed the orc's other forearm, still yet intact, and placed her own blade against it, digging hard into its skin, drawing a thick line of blackish blood, and a scream that made even the dwarf flinch.

Before continuing, she paused, looking back at the dwarf with a hardened expression, and, confusingly, the traces of a smirk played at the edge of her lips.

"I am no Lady, master dwarf. My name, if you would, is Merésgaleth."

And she pulled the knife deeper still.

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**Authors Note: Thank you to users Maariiie and Starfishyy for following the story as of 12/21/2014 **


	4. (4) Fire

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything within the Tolkien universe, except for my original characters ;)**

**[This chapter is rated T]**

**Chapter 4: Fire**

* * *

_["I am no Lady, master dwarf. My name, if you would, is Merésgaleth."]_

_Merésgaleth . . ._

It was night time now, and though many within Middle- Earth would not believe it, a dwarf and an elf were sitting quietly by a fire nestled just west of the mountain of Erebor.

Tholi had been thinking, replaying the events of the prior morning over and over within his head, half in disbelief at what had happened.

* * *

_He looked at her, the strange, mysterious elf, crouched low in front of the orc they had captured that morning. Her knife, now half through the meat of the creatures arm was spilling black blood in cascades over her whitish fingers, staining them with its odd color. Though he would never had thought to use this method to gain answers . . . he found himself unable to argue with its worth, as the orc was sputtering words faster than he had ever imagined it would._

"_Going . . . AAAGH! . . . to retrieve . . . the Palant__í__r . . . from Angm- AAAAG"_

_And she had stopped then, rendering the creatures head from its body, finally finding what she was looking for._

'_So unlike any elf I've ever heard of,' he had thought, 'yet she looks as one would imagine . . .'_

_She got up from her crouch, quickly wiping her dagger on a stray cloth and the ground, frowning when she could not rid its blade of the entirety of the filth. Her front was splattered with remnants of the battle, just like his was, darkening the silver and gold of the tunic she was wearing. Her expression had softened, and wisps of her raven hair were clinging to her face and cheeks, still flush from the rush of the quarrel, having come undone from the long braid trailing down the length of her back._

_She was short. For an elf._

_Seeming to notice his gaze, she turned toward him with her, and he looked quickly away, not wanting to give her the impression that he had been staring._

'_Though I would like to have looked a little longer . . .'_

_Surely he must have been wounded, and was losing so much blood that he had ceased to be in control of his thoughts. Wanting to study the elf for longer? Ridiculous, he thought. Any other dwarf would not have hesitated during their first encounter, driving their sword into her gut._

_And yet, he had hesitated. _

_In all his years in the Blue Mountains, he had known only few dwarfish women among the small groups of his people that called it home. Including his mother. While they were not docile, as they shared the same peppery constitution that most dwarves possessed, they were not fighters. They were mothers, or would be, knowing that a female dwarf was a rarer occurrence indeed. _

_This was the first time he had crossed paths with a woman with such a strong spirit, let alone the deadly grace of an elven warrior. From the first time he had gazed into her bluish eyes, knife pressed against her neck, he knew he could never kill someone with such a passion about them._

_He was fascinated._

_The dart of her eyes across the battlefield, and the swift blows she dealt to each and every orc that dared to challenge her reminded him greatly of the thrill he felt every time he had been hunting in the mountains. She was lithe, and yet carried a gravity around her that made even himself feel drawn toward her. _

_She was like an arrow, loosed from its bow flying straight, and deadly, and true toward its target, stopped by nothing, afraid of nothing. _

_She was so very free._

* * *

_And you are so VERY OUT OF YOUR MIND, Tholi, son of Osk!_

He grimaced in the firelight, very much annoyed that he was even entertaining the very ideas he was having. Huffing quietly, he tore into a small parcel of hard bread, beginning to question his sanity.

Across the small fire, her face was scrunched in concentration, still trying to remove a hardened bit of some part of an orc from her longsword, the shadows dancing across her delicate features. He looked to her, sitting quietly there, wondering how in the world he could have arrived at this moment.

Seeming to notice his gaze, again, she stopped, and looked slowly to him from behind her think veil of lashes, eyes glistening like the brightest of jewels in Erebor through the darkness.

_It's as if my thoughts are so loud that she can hear them, damn it all._

"Master dwarf, you look troubled," She said, setting her sword to the side with a soft sigh," I admit, my thoughts have been racing all the while we have been sitting here as well . . ."

He gulped, eyes widening slightly, the smallest bit afraid that maybe she had weaved some sort of elfish magic about him and could hear his thoughts indeed.

Confused slightly at his reaction, she raised a brow at him, "The Palantír, master dwarf? The seeing stones made by the Ɲoldor in Eldamar, in the Elder Days? Do you know of them?"

Internally, he released his held breath, relieved that she perhaps wasn't some devilish trickster after all.

"Yes, I have heard of them, though we dwarves have less knowledge of them than the elves possess. I know that they are wicked things, most lost to the four winds . . . until now, I suppose."

She nodded, and looked at him in a serious tone.

"Until now. And it bothers me more than anything that orcs of all beings were searching for one. Within the ruins of Angmar nonetheless. Do you know what it could mean if they had found one, master dwarf?"

"Not fully, though I can certainly guess the intention," he said quietly.

"If those orcs had reached the stone in Angmar, my guess is that they would have taken it to some dark place, far from the light of the earth to be used for some unspeakable malevolence . . . though I suredly doubt they would have made it much farther what with them crossing paths with one of your watch and catching the attention of Mirkwood's King, the ugly fools. They move slower than dead men and breathe louder than dwarves, hah!"

Her short, but genuine laugh mingled with the crackling of the fire in front of Tholi, and he couldn't help but smile at her teasing tone. Gone from one serious matter to joking in an instance, he was enthralled with this being before him. If this was the nature of all elves, he thought, he wouldn't mind so much to cross paths with others.

_Though even then, none would be quite the same as this one . . . Mer__é__sagleth . . . I wonder what her name means._

Not wanting to ask, he made a mental note that if he ever had the opportunity to, he would somehow find out.

"Have you ever met an elf before, master dwarf?" She called from across the flames.

"No, you are the first. And if I may say it, I certainly hope you are not the last."

At this she let a long laugh, like the peal of bells rise high into the evening air, throwing her head back with the effort of her gesture.

"No elf in all of Mirkwood would have guessed that I'd be sharing a hearth with a dwarf this evening. You are most strange a creature, and not at all what I would have expected. In the best of ways, of course."

Stifling her laughter at last, she turned to lay down then, covering herself with the grey cloak she had been wearing all the day.

"I will not sleep, as I need nothing less than rest and meditation to replenish my strength. Though I doubt you would find it in you to give me your trust, I can assure you that I will stay awake tonight. The fire will be warm, and I will be watching. Take as much comfort from that as you will, master dwarf."

And now it was Tholi's turn to smile, amused that the elf couldn't tell that she had already gained his trust, and maybe something more.

"I will, then," he said, following suit and wrapping himself in his thick, fur lined cloak, turning his heavy lidded gaze to the brilliant stars overhead.

"And Merésgaleth," he sighed with his low and weary voice.

"Call me Tholi."

* * *

**Authors Note: Thank you to Celebrisilweth for the follow, and zerodarkwolf for the favorite as of 12/24/2014.**

**[To Celebrisilweth: Yes, orcs again. Unfortunately, they tend to be a staple enemy in Middle- Earth. And even though Tholi and Gholi are absolute GOONS no pair could ever rival Fili and Kili's level of shenanigans.]**

**Thank you again for the support!**


	5. (5) By Chance or Fate

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in Middle Earth, save for my original characters.**

**Chapter 5: By Chance or Fate**

* * *

[Two Months Later]

* * *

Though he did not think it possible, things had been quiet under the mountain for Tholi, son of Osk, ever since returning from his three days journey out into the hills surrounding Erebor.

While he did not expect a grand fanfare and applause waiting for him at the gates upon his return, he had not foreseen being shunned from all discussion about the allegedly found Palantír in Angmar. He had given his report quietly, bowed to the King Thorin, and was promptly led out of the chambers with the door near shutting on his heels.

The King of Erebor was not at all pleased with the discovery.

In the end, it would have been much less frustrating and dangerous, Tholi supposed, if the band of orcs had been some wayward band with incredibly poor judgment of direction. But instead, they brought with them a miasma of disdain, and it was seeping into the halls of the Lonely Mountain.

His days remained the same, attending the furnaces and fires of the forge, and sharpening the axes and swords smithed there, though the production had increased and he was working late into the evening hours more than ever. Tholi and Gholi shared food and drink in the grand halls, his cousin still harassing dwarf women and not understanding the connotation of the word 'no.'

But there was something different happening; something causing whispers and low turned heads in the near always loud and cheerful dwarves. Word had been spread, of course, of the attack on the third watch, and the people of Erebor were afraid.

Would the orcs attack the mountain again? Or did the sighting of the creatures signal that some greater evil was returning to the footsteps of the mountain?

The minds of all the dwarves had turned to focusing on darker, more menacing things.

But Tholi's thoughts were not clouded with fear of fire or warfare; they were not scrabbling to find meaning behind the gruesome attack.

Instead, his saw an arrow, flying straight and true over rock and stream, glistening under the starlight of the clear winter.

He saw Merésgaleth, with her dark locks caressing the gentle flush of her high cheeks, her eyes calling to him, tempting him in the firelight, promising him more than the silence and blackness under the mountain, and . . .

"THOLI!"

A sharp slap to the chest broke Tholi from his reverie, and he staggered backwards onto his back, falling from the low bench at which he was sitting. The dwarves around him pointed and laughed, most calling accusations that he had a bit too much ale for the evening.

"For Mahal's sake cousin, if five sips of a pint is all it takes to knock you flat on your arse, then you're better off dying of thirst then!"

Tholi, face reddened like an apple after his fall, reached toward the outstretched hand of his cousin before him, and brushed himself of the dirt he collected during his fall to the ground.

"If it's any consolation Gholi, I do believe that I've had ten."

"Ha!" Gholi chuckled, "It does not lad! You've gone soft from all this thinking you've been doing lately. You work more than ever, sleep less than you eat, and eat less than you speak! What's gone and grabbed hold of you?"

_Nothing's grabbed hold of me or else you would have had the decency to stop me from falling._

Tholi sighed, sitting back at the bench, giving his cousin a small smirk, hoping that he would finally lay off his efforts to dissuade his self from his thoughts after this satisfactory embarrassment.

"Ever since you went off gallivanting into the unknown, without me I might add to my greatest displeasure, you've . . . changed. Ma and Da can see it as well."

"I'm just worried like everyone else, Gholi. It was strange that the orcs wandered that close to the mountain, and I'm worried about what it might mean same as every other dwarf."

_Which is stretching the truth._

Gholi grimaced with a distasteful grunt. "All these dwarves would be far less accosted by images of death and ruin if King Thorin would simply tell them what happened. I have the greatest respect for the man, don't take my words wrong, but he's a secretive sort I'll tell you."

Tholi turned toward Gholi, and firmly grasped the upper of his arm, wanting to settle the matter once and for all for he was getting greatly tired of lying to his cousin, telling him that nothing had happened.

"Gholi. I've told you before, and I shall not tell you again. There is no reason to suspect that the orcs are going to attack Erebor again. There was nothing to suggest that they were any more than a mangled band of orcs wanting nothing more than to spill anyone's blood that they could. We found nothing there, Gholi."

_Oh, no._

Gholi shot up from his seat, and slammed his fists angrily into the table sending a rivet of cracks through the dark cedar under the weight of their strike.

"WE?! _We _found nothing there?! Well there's a tad bit of information that I've yet to hear!"

_I would rather slay a thousand dragons with nothing more than a spoon and a broken pipe stem than have this conversation._

"Gholi sit down you oaf, for Mahal's sake."

"I will not," his cousin retorted, fuming, "sit down and let you worm yourself out of this one!"

Tholi rubbed his fingers into his eyes, already telling that he was developing one very large headache.

"I'll not argue with you while you're likely to stab me from where you stand, Gholi. I couldn't tell you any more than you had already known, and all you had known was that I had gone. I had to keep some things from you, and I am sorry."

Gholi was unsatisfied, and grumpily crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well ain't that just the way then!"

Tholi ceased rubbing his temples, and looked up to the staring faces of no more than twenty other dwarves, all greatly confused at the scene unfolding before them. Hoping that he had not already compromised the trust that Fili had put in him with the outburst that was sure to become the mountain's most popular topic of conversation, he got up, and led Gholi to a place where he could yell all he wanted without letting all of Erebor hear.

After a few minutes descent from the halls, the two found themselves clustered between the dusty, cobwebbed bookshelves of the library.

No less angry than before, Gholi stared at Tholi, still crossing his arms and demanding information.

Tholi sighed, and wondered where he should begin, starting the tale in a hushed tone.

"Before I tell you what had happened, I need you to give your word that you will breathe none of this to anyone else. There are very few that need to know what went on, and I suppose you are one of them now."

"I should have always been one of them if you would ask me!"

"Gholi!"

A few moments passed by, Gholi eyeing Tholi intensely, likely debating whether he should put an axe in his cousin where he stood. In the end, he resigned, and sat with a heavy thud on top of a short stack of dusty tomes.

"Alright. You have it. But you'll begin with this _we _business. So who did you take, then? Was it Falur from down in the forge? Or Inge maybe? Even those choices would have been a piss decision because I can't possibly fathom why you hadn't thought to say _oh I have this wonderful burly cousin with the biggest beard and the longest-_ ''

"Are you planning on letting me continue, or are you going to continue to pout like a whining newborn?"

He was quiet, then, so Tholi went on.

"I was brought to the bedside of the dwarf who was fatally wounded during the orc's ambush. Inside was a small council of the wise dwarves, and Fili as well. He tasked me with following the band of orcs on account of my tracking skill. I was told to find them and kill them or follow them the way they were heading as long as I could. NOT to bring someone along with me."

His cousin snorted at the remark and raised a questioning tone. "Aye? Then did you sprout some companionship out your arse then?"

"No. I followed them with every intention of seeing them to their target so long as they did not attempt any trouble along the way. But as I followed them on the third day I saw a shadow out the corner of my eye, thinking it was one of them that had noticed me behind them. I drew my dagger and waited behind a rock in ambush, and . . ."

He paused, remembering Merésgaleth's arrow flying toward him, the flash of steel against steel, the cold dagger against his neck, and his shock as he gazed into _her _frenzied eyes.

"And what," Gholi asked, sitting on the edge of his perch in interest, "did you slit the damn things throat?"

"No."

Gholi started, quite confused by what Tholi was letting on. Tholi looked past him, trying to reach for the right words to say. He had thought hard during the two months that had passed.

First, trying to rid his mind of all thought of the fair warrior that had met his blade with her own. But to his malcontent, he could not stop thinking of her. Dreaming of her even. By Mahal, he knew that he was crazy for what he had begun to feel, to even entertain any level of affection for an _elven_ woman. And yet, despite knowing that any other dwarf would have thought him mad for his thoughts, he knew that his heart was justified.

But at the same time, what could he possibly come to expect from accepting his feelings like this? She was elven, and resided within Mirkwood, quite away from him under the Lonely Mountain.

And better yet, did she even bear any amount of affection toward him? For all he knew he had been wasting away the past two months, chasing nothing less than feelings founded on a now fleeting memory; a scenario far more likely than the one he was wanting.

But when he thought of her in the cold hours of the morning, her strength, and spirit, and will, he knew he could never think of another quite like her. She had taken his gaze and fixed it solely upon her.

In the end, he realized, she had stolen his heart.

There was never any question, Tholi thought, of what he needed to say of her to his cousin. He was only wary of the anger he would receive upon speaking it. But it was now that the time had come, and he tried his best not to make his cousin hate him.

"I didn't find an orc come to attack me . . . it was an elven warrior. She had been dispatched by her king for the same reason as I, and on that day we had managed to cross our paths. I had meant to ambush an orc, but instead was met with her own blade, and we found ourselves with our daggers to each other's necks."

Gholi sat there, taken back by the appearance of an elf within the story.

"An elf? Lad I'm surprised she didn't silt your throat without a second glance!"

Tholi chuckled, "Well she did try to shoot me with an arrow at first, if that's any better."

"Better?!" Gholi cried, "It sounds as if you almost died! No wonder you've been actin' so strangely, you're probably spooked from almost getting offed by some fiendish, uppity, elf bit- . . ."

"She's nothing like that, Gholi. She would have never done that to me."

_And I would have never done that to her._

Gholi stood up again, this time not in anger, but in caution, and walked to Tholi, placing a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"Tholi, you know as well as I that neither one of us truly hates the elves. At least not as much as most dwarves do. Our kin fought alongside them when they took back Erebor, so I realize that they are not truly evil. But you've got to realize how you sound, lad. Orcs or no orcs you were close enough to their forest that any one of them would have plucked you off, given the chance. Never have done that? To _you_? Don't fool yourself into thinking you're so special. I don't want to carry your corpse back into the mountain one day. I've done that enough for one life."

He sat back down then, expression turned somber, and the pain of loss swimming in the tears in his eyes, though he would never let them fall.

Tholi felt terrible then, and greatly wished that he had not been so selfish as to hide what had happened from his cousin for this long. But this was not the time to reveal what had transpired on the plains of Erebor, not with Gholi under the impression that he was almost lost.

For awhile at least, Tholi would have to keep mention of his raven haired elf to his self.

"If you think for one moment that I could be so easily stuck like a pig, then you have forgotten many years of our friendship, Gholi. Besides, you've gotten so fat after coming to Erebor that if anyone was going to be flayed like a squealing hog it would be you, I'd bet! Much more meat on the bones."

Gholi laughed heartily, wiping one eye on the back of his hand, and stood up, brushing some bits of cobweb off of his lap that had fallen from the musty walls of the room. He eyed Tholi with a sideways glance, punching him hard on the arm that had received his more tender gesture moments before, all previous gloom forgotten.

"Is that so, then? I can't help it cousin, the ladies love the stomach! Means I'm well bred, and even better fed!"

"Ha!" Tholi laughed, walking in tandem with Gholi back out of the library, "Is that what that means? I don't think it does, else that Valbryn you continue to harass would be swooning over every inch of you, and I don't think repeatedly being slapped and punched in the face is making you any more handsome!"

"Like I said before, cousin, no lady can resist. Besides, the punching is how she shows affection; she's a wild one, I'll give ya that! All the more reason why she's absolutely stu- . . ."

And Gholi trailed off, starting up a rousing story about his various attempts to win over the dwarf woman, who would, as always, have absolutely nothing to do with him. Tholi thought she sounded just as spirited as Merésgaleth.

_But who has the easier way here? At least she isn't an elf._

He wondered then, just what would happen to his feelings. It wasn't as if he could see the elf again if he was to be completely honest. Would it be better for him to erase her memory from his mind? He did not know.

All he knew, in that moment, was that no matter the cost, he never wanted to forget.

* * *

**Authors note: Thank you all so so so much for the views, reviews, follows, favorites, and support for this story! So many of you have been so kind that I decided to write a longer chapter in celebration! Not to mention that it was recently Christmas, so for those of you that celebrate, think of this long chapter as a small gift.**

**It seems that some tension is developing in regards to Tholi's feelings. And does Mer****é****sgaleth even feel the same? We'll find out in the next chapter, but until then, thank you again!**


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